poetry critical

online poetry workshop


he sipped at a beer; more a swallow
actually danced with
rachel, she was dressed like a salesman
and when you say dance you -
more: byword for train station you know
'cause things go a swooshing
and hardly time dancing .
rachel likes you,
she wants to be part wine glass, the stem.
have your fingers twined, she wants her
reflection to be pregnant.
and a slam hit him, almost like a poet with
the oven door slammed on his urethra;
chalice with his teeth in it,
you dusted the stained pages and feed him one
more cigarette before scurrying off
to bedtime, bedlam, burning man.
you wanted solace after watching the nurse
give you a white something, it could
have been his cock entering before
you had time to wash, or it could have been
thursday morning
after a mouse had crawled from your hair.
you ate a nice meal once, a meal a rodent
wouldn't know;
i can't remember if you're named rachel or
you wanted the newspaper read to you,
it's ironic that i fed pigeons when i was younger
it isn't safe to get off the train at night- there
are crumbs in the city.
ezra wouldn't like it, he would slash on the bush
by the bus-stop, wave his manic hand "SHIT"- he would squint at the thing his, the thing once.
ride a bicycle from the station , rachel, better air
sober woods
pine forest
a hazel coloured deer, red tufted ears. it's winter
and you wore muffs, a child saw you wondering
which off you thought the train was coming or going?
rachel thinks he had too many beers, threw the caps in the koi pond, fragrance melted, his skin like clay  
and you wormed your hands into his and helped him into the bath, you
baked him in water and when he was done his father came in a limousine made from steel and old train tracks from when the things you knew connected.
his father smiled at you and you took his hand when you told him your name, but you never knew yours,
not after he fucked you by the book of song-  not the old ones the new ones, that sound like too many children clapping.
after dinner- this was any friday- he would sit by starlight and think he was a prince, and his cock would smell like jasmine rice if you threw it in the ocean.
you wanted to remember your name then, after you had rubbed yourself to a little one.
the pipes from the shower rattled in the wall; a decent amount of salt, more than a chef could ever use, and you couldn't afford saffron. ezra told you once that the french method was his favourite.
his tongue was like a train when your mouths pinched together, ezra says "bob dylan wouldn't be where he was if the gaslight were a lamp store".
you told him he was a thief, and he told you that was true. you were there when he shit himself and propped in water, like a dead flower, smiling from the vase.
when his daddy rode a motor across the states he said he saw Dylan once- he said he was only a moth,
that all things must die. you crawled into bed
with him and laughed at his son when he looked at you like a wet cigarette. it wasn't even like a train, but like a low hum that goes searching, is joined at the throat by a clip and your hands throttle his.
he said a bird wouldn't fuck a giraffe,
(he said a lot of things) there was a meanness when
he came in you, and the red stitching on his jumper
was itchy. it was saturday and you were alone
with a mimosa, he could have been a swan for all
the things you knew, you pretended
at the doctors office that you were a train
would be on time, you know the city -
just a tall needle spearing into the underground.
he foamed at the mouth when he read your letter, you weren't there but you imagined bees inside his urethra, and small petals and toes.
once the nurse was done you took your purse and hiked up to the station,  left the memory behind.
there were green shoots in a pot by the window.
a name sifted in all purpose flour, wine for the roux,
you take his hands and you marry them in herbs,
you put a potato sack over your head
be a different you

15 Oct 18

(define the words in this poem)
(378 more poems by this author)

Add A Comment:
Enter the following text to post as unknown: captcha


I can't even...
 — jenakajoffer

You told him u reek of Eureka Urethra
 — unknown